


Tethered in Silver and Gold (Chiaroscuroverse's Gift Domme!Rose Kink Universe)

by Rinari7



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Biting, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, D/s relationship, Domme!Rose, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kink Dungeon, Kink Negotiation, Kink Party/Club, Married Couple, Painplay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powerplay, Relationship Negotiation, Spanking, Sub!Nine, Telepathy, Voyeurism, collaring, trauma processing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2020-02-15 23:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 17,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18679873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: Self-indulgent (friend-indulgent) kink: how it came to be, how it went on, how they messed up and tried again and figured it out and lived sexily ever after.





	1. Second

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chiaroscuroverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscuroverse/gifts).



> This belongs to [Chiaroscuroverse](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/).  
> It was always intended as a gift to her, for her enjoyment, tailored to her preferences. It started as a single fic in her askbox, just smut offered to someone I knew would enjoy it. But it grew and evolved, thanks to her love and enthusiasm for it, took shape according to her preferences, wouldn't exist at all if not for her, certainly not as the entire arc it does. I'm just the person who couldn't help putting words on the page about it, and I'm archiving it here, slightly cleaned and polished, in response to her gentle nudging.
> 
> This is a series of snapshots, written out of order. At Chiaroscuroverse's request, I've put them in more or less chronological order here. However, should you wish to experience them in the order in which they were released, the more piecemeal version (as I'm afraid they are somewhat lacking if one expects them to form some cohesive, orderly narrative), the word chapter titles indicate the order of publication.

Rose touched him every chance she got now: ran a hand down his arm, pressed herself against him, combed her hands through his hair (maybe wished it was a bit longer). And when he stood at the console, bent over, leather jacket riding up, she couldn't resist giving his arse a smack.

It stung more than she thought it would. "Sorry, Doctor," a bit sheepishly. "Didn't mean f'r it to be that hard."

His ears were red. "I don't mind." And quieter: "You can do that again if you like."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163314464851/rose-touched-him-every-chance-she-got-now-ran-a).


	2. Fourth

She stops, stock-still, her palm smarting, and stares at him. "D'you want me to do that again?"

He nods, swallows, remaining bent over. "Yeah." A moment, she hesitates, and as if he knows what she's thinking, though he's not looking at her: "Exactly like that. You won't hurt me, not in a bad way."

The slap, then his long, low groan, echo though the console room: Sucking in air against the sudden, heady feeling, Rose shakes her hand out, then backhands his other bumcheek. He jerks, a short, sharp moan escaping him.

“Doctor?” She insinuates herself between him and the console as he straightens, her gaze meeting dark eyes that steal the air from her lungs. Rising on her toes, she meets him in a heated, bruising, kiss. He’s mostly hard against her stomach, rocking into her as she grabs his bum.

“Doctor,” she pants, when they part. “Go into the bedroom and take off your trousers.“ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163471831846/she-stops-stock-still-her-palm-smarting-and).


	3. Seventh

Rose enters his bedroom (it's not theirs, not officially, though she hasn't slept in her own in weeks) to find his leather jacket draped over the footboard and him completely naked, bent over, hands clasped in front of him, leaning on his forearms on the burgundy blanket over the high bed. Her throat runs dry, her tongue darting over her lips, desire and apprehension in equal measure crackling through her chest. "Doctor?"

He turns his head, heat making way for concern as he meets her gaze.

“Do you want this? I mean, really? Do you want me to hit you?” Blimey, but she wants to, remembering that rush as she brought her hand down on him, how he moaned in pleasure, in a tone she hadn’t heard before. But should she want to?

“Yeah.” His voice draws her back to the present, and there is no hesitation in his gaze. “You don’t have to.” He reaches out, to take her hand in one of his, running his thumb over the back of her hand. “But I’d love it if you did.”

Taking a deep breath, she nods and places his hand beside his other on the bed, pressing herself against his back, resting her lips on the back of his neck. “All right.” She swallows, kissing him more firmly, darting her tongue out to taste his skin, her voice slightly hoarse when she speaks. “I’d like if I did, too.”

Slowly, Rose presses one last kiss to his shoulderblade and straightens, running her hands up his arms and down his back, to rest her left hand on his waist and her right on his bum. She gropes him, blatantly, relishing the resulting twitch of his hips. “Are you ready?” Her voice is soft, but strong, her hesitancy banished to a back corner of her mind.

“Yeah.” Anticipation soaks his tone, and he wriggles his bum the barest bit. She raises her hand, and lets it fall.

It stings, but he doesn’t tense, not that she notices at least, his exhale measured. Again, she slaps him, on the other bumcheek, a pause, then in the same place as the first, then his upper thighs, then his other cheek again, and again, until her palm is smarting and pink is beginning to bloom over his skin.

It takes a split second to come back to herself, when she stops, and she strokes her left hand along his spine. “How is it?” Gently, she runs her right hand over his backside, slipping one finger briefly between his cheeks; his hips buck at that.

“Fantastic,” he mumbles, resting his head on his forearms, panting, wrecked. “Absolutely fantastic. Please keep going.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163543331245/rose-enters-his-bedroom-its-not-theirs-not).


	4. Fourteenth

"Please keep going." So she does: alternating strokes to his left bumcheek, then his right, then his thighs, some harder, some softer, until his little grunts and whimpers have turned into long, luxurious moans, until she's clenching her thighs together and he's tilting his hips in tiny movements as Rose runs her smarting fingers over his warm pink skin.

Trailing her hand up his back, she sits on the bed, then lies on her side to look at him. Bliss dances in the Doctor’s wide, soft smile, in the flutter of his eyelashes, and his heavy breath ghosts over her lips as she presses them to his. She doesn’t mean for it to be so hungry, but he nearly immediately opens his mouth, slides his tongue obscenely against hers, and tugs her lower lip between his teeth as he finally pulls away to let her breathe.

“Rose.” His voice is rough, wrecked. “That was fantastic. You were fantastic.”

She wasn’t worried, not really, but the words touch something inside her, soothing, sparking something she suspects will burn long and hot. A broad grin slides over her lips. “You’re welcome.”

Then she nips his jaw, and he growls. He’s dragging her shirt up, pawing at the zip of her jeans, and she shoves her knickers down along with the denim. They can’t have him inside her fast enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/164541032766/please-keep-going-so-she-does-alternating).


	5. Fifteenth

Tucked into the crook of his arm, resting her hand on his chest, she glances up at him, and uncertainty clouds her gaze. “Was it really all right?”

His bum still aching deliciously, he smiles at her, brushes a kiss to her forehead, pulls her a little closer. “Yeah, it was. I enjoyed it, Rose. You were fantastic.” He weighs the last word, drawing it out, and a smile flits across her lips.  

“All right.” Nestling up against him, she feathers her lips over his skin, lays her head on his shoulder, and then he hears her murmur, so soft he’s not sure if he’s meant to hear, “I’d like to do that again sometime.”

His hearts quicken at the words, and his cock, limp after two spectacular orgasms, begins to stir again. He swallows, and when he speaks, his voice is rough, slightly hoarse. “I certainly hope we’re doing that again sometime soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/164541032766/please-keep-going-so-she-does-alternating).


	6. Twelfth

He tongues down her neck, nips briefly at the join to her shoulder, kisses along her collarbone as her head falls back, as she moans, as her hands trace a teasing path down to the zip of his jeans. He knows exactly how to make her purr, how to make her scream, and she's beautiful every time — it's not that. He still wants to see her fall apart for him. But something's missing.

He's restless, and she can tell, her brow wrinkling, her hands stilling at his waistband. “Doctor?” Rose is breathless, panting, and oh does he want to see her completely undone, wild with desire, hates that his head isn’t in it. “Is something wrong?”

No, nothing’s _wrong_ , not exactly. “Could you hurt me a bit?”

They’ve done it before, both enjoyed it, and she immediately curls her nails into him.

Fantastic, that is, not quite that indefinable thing he aches for, but still fantastic, sharp and lust-filled, and his breath comes heavier as they strip him of his jeans and pants, her of her knickers and bra. Atop her on their bed, he teases her, with open-mouthed kisses and little nips on her breasts, until her nipples pebble, hard, until he scents her arousal, strong and sweet, until she whimpers his name and tugs on his erection, until she hitches her leg over his hip and guides him into her. He pins her hips to the bed, intending to tease her more, but then she digs her nails into his bum, letting out a small growl, clenching around him.

“Doctor, _move_.” A shudder runs through him, his hips bucking of their own accord, and she gasps encouragement, raking trails up his back. “Yes, like that.”

He meets her eyes, stills deliberately. “Tell me again. Please.”

Her eyes widen, and he hears the tension in every syllable she grits out, an undercurrent of frustrated desire. “Doctor, _move_ , for Christ’s sake, _fuck me_.”

Arousal floods his veins, and he’s driving into her, chasing his release — suddenly so close — and reaching between them in the desperate hope of making her come with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163965680471/he-tongues-down-her-neck-nips-briefly-at-the-join).


	7. Sixteenth

He licks the last of her from his lips, closing his eyes as he savors it, letting out a small, happy hum.

She groans, spread out sated on the bed. “Don’t do that. Or else I’m going to want you to do that again.”

He grins, a touch smug (only a touch), and crawls up the bed to kiss her, open-mouthed, sliding his tongue against hers, letting her taste herself. She closes her teeth on his lower lip, tugging on it gently as he pulls away.

“That wouldn’t be a hardship, love.”

She grins back, soft and bright, her gaze full of wonder, the look (one of many) that makes his hearts stutter. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Well, I am a Time Lord.” He rolls onto his back beside her, setting one hand behind his head. “Superior biology, hard to get any better.”

She smacks him gently with the back of her hand. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

He just grins (though it makes him almost angry, that that makes him special).

Rose shifts a bit closer, leaning her head against his shoulder, and plays with her hair, inspecting the ends. “So,” and there’s a bit too much nonchalance in her voice, “You liked me telling you to fuck me?”

He turns to look at her, meets her eyes, nods. “I liked you telling me what to do. Taking charge.” The words spill out of him, without his permission or even intention. “I want you to do that more often.”

She bites her lip, pulls at a split end. “Mickey hated when I did that. He never said, but I could just tell, you know. He got all… Weird.”

He scowls, turning to her more fully, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. “Rickey’s an idiot.”

She rolls her eyes, exhaling through her nose, smiling a bit despite herself, and she lets out a small noise of surprise as he kisses her. It’s a bit harder than he intended, but he wants to banish all thoughts of Mickey the Idiot from her head (not in _his_ bed). It turns hotter when she rolls on top of him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. _Oh_ , this is _fantastic_ , he’s stiffening and he might have to use that respiratory bypass... When she breaks away, raking her gaze down his body, he’s sure his eyes are slightly glazed.

She shifts, moves to sit on her knees beside him, and palms his growing erection. He shudders (this Rose he hasn’t seen before; this Rose has _ideas_ and he’s not sure he’ll survive this Rose, but he doesn’t want to miss a second) and she guides one of his hands to wrap around his cock.  
“I want to watch you. Go slow.”

He swallows, strokes himself — has to stop for a moment at the way her gaze darkens, suddenly afraid he might come just from that.

She trails her hands up her sides to her breasts, brushing her thumbs over her nipples, and he tenses, his exhale loud in his own ears. She meets his eyes for a long moment, spreading her knees, her voice husky when she asks, “You like this?”

He nods (it’s about all he can manage at the moment) and she smiles, delicious sin in the slow quirk of her lips, trailing her gaze down his body. “Go on, then. Touch yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/164618184051/he-licks-the-last-of-her-from-his-lips-closing).


	8. Eighteenth

She peels off her t-shirt, flings it to some corner of the room, steps out of her jeans. He waits, holding his breath, watching eagerly for that Rose he’s caught a glimpse of before, the girl who didn’t hesitate to demand exactly what she wanted from him. 

Rose unhooks her bra, turning as she pulls the straps from her shoulders, her forehead creasing in a disappointed frown as she takes him in, still clothed. “Why aren’t you getting undressed?”

His stomach sinks, his hopes dashed, drowned in a bucket of ice-cold water. “You didn’t tell me to.”

“Well, it’s sort of difficult to have sex with your clothes on. I mean, you could, though — or do you not want to tonight?” The corners of her mouth tilt down in a frown, but she lifts one shoulder, adding, “If you don’t, that’s fine, too.”

“No, I do.” He lingers on the edge of hope and disappointment, hoping she’ll _get it_.

She doesn’t, lifting one shoulder, her bra hanging from her fingers. “So what’s wrong?”

He swallows. “You didn’t tell me to.” The spark of magic, of anticipation, flickers.

Flinging her bra the same way of her shirt, Rose sets her hands on her hips. He darts his tongue out to moisten his lips; this Rose is inexorably fascinating, confident, in command, and his arousal flares again. “I thought you might be able to figure it out for yourself that I might appreciate it.” Her tone softens slightly. “Is this about the other night? You really like me ordering you about that much?”

He nods, swallows, and meets her eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

“You want me to do that tonight?”

He nods, again. Her eyes darken as she sucks in a deep breath, looking over him with new lust in her gaze. Suddenly, the air in the room crackles with energy. “I can tell you to do whatever I want,” she says slowly, deliberately, “and you’ll do it?”

“Most things, probably, yeah.”

“How do you mean?” Rose’s voice is soft, but infused with the urgency he feels too, the awareness of how important this is.

“I don’t think you’ll ask me to do anything I don’t already want to do. I’ll let you know if you do.”

His breathing is shallow; he’s nearing a precipice, they are, together, and slowly, she nods. There’s nothing different he can pick out as she approaches him, not in her gaze or posture or gait, but it’s nonetheless there, new, wild, carefully controlled; and maybe it’s him and not her, maybe it’s them, together. Rose seals it with a kiss, claims her prize, lingering, nipping his lip as she pulls away.

“Take off your clothes, then, Doctor. Slowly.” She trails her fingers over his neck and he shivers, her breath on his ear and the lust sparking from her fingertips mingling to stir fire in his veins. “You’re always done with it so fast and then you’re on me and I never get the chance to look at you properly.” Her voice has lowered to a cheeky purr, sending heat to his groin, making him throb, completely hard. “Appreciate you.” Lightly, her nails scrape over the skin of his stomach, her fingertips playing at the hem of his jumper. “This first.”

He lifts the jumper over his head, trying to go slowly, trying to give her the show she apparently wants. He’s never been much to look at, not in his opinion, but her gaze follows the fabric up, and then rakes back down, her tongue darting over her lips. Her obvious appreciation makes him square his shoulders a bit, take his time easing the belt buckle open, until she covers his hands with hers and pulls it open herself, holding his stare the entire time.

Under her eager hands, his erection pulses, and he almost feels fucked already, pinned under her dark, intent gaze. He tilts his head down to kiss her, and she slides her lips against his for a brief moment. He’s swiping his tongue over her lips, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss, as she yanks his jeans open and backs away.

Suddenly bereft, exposed, some slight sense of rejection prickling his heart, he idly registers the denim sliding to the ground and steps out of them. “Rose.” He pulls off one sock, quickly, balancing on one foot, then the other, grasping at vague, undefined wisps of discontent, voicing the most solid of them. “Don’t you like kissing me?”

“Of course I do. But right now I want to look at you.” Her gaze rests on the prominent bulge in his pants before it flicks back to his face. She swallows. “Turn around.” Her voice is softer, and he wonders what she saw in his expression. “Please.”

He’s softening, malcontent swirling in his gut, but he obeys.

The soft shift of the bedcovers accompanies her words this time. “Turn back around.”

Rose sits on the edge of their bed, letting her legs splay open, her voice low when she speaks, a confession. “I really like looking at you, Doctor. Can you tell?”

Yes, she’s wet, but he’s known that for a while. He nods, dumbly, disconnected, jangling.

She licks her lips. “Like what you see, too?” The barest trace of uncertainty trembles in her voice.

“Can I touch you?” It rushes out, in a cracked voice he barely recognizes as his own.

She nods, immediately, reaching a hand out, standing to approach him. But he’s already there, grasping her fingers, lifting them to his face, nuzzling her palm with a gasp of relief. Only when Rose kneels does he realize he’s sunk to his knees as well. “What’s wrong?”

Everything, nothing — he’d wanted her to do what she wanted, take what she wanted, have it — or he’d thought he did. “I needed to touch you.”

“All right.” She wraps her arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. Burying his face in her hair, he revels in the contact: her skin on his, shoulder to hip. It’s soothing, grounding, wonderful in a way he’s not sure he knows how to name. The TARDIS hums in the back of his mind, a spark of a realization.

“I need to touch you,” he repeats, turning the words over in his mind, before the brush of her fingers over his back sweep them away for later.

“All right.” She exhales, sniffles quietly. “I’m sorry.”

He draws back, to find her lashes moist and her eyes puffy with the beginning of tears. “What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know!” she bursts out, then stills, sighing. “Obviously I did something wrong.” Yet her tone turns, hardening, a little sullen. “But I thought it was supposed to be about what I want.”

He pulls her closer, no answer presenting itself to him. “I did, too.”

“I thought you wanted what I want.” She tilts her head back to look up at him, sitting back.

“I did, too.” He swallows. “I do.” The words come slowly, as he pries them from the shapes in his mind, forms them. “I just — I need to feel connected to you.” Lacing their fingers together, he squeezes her hand gently. She nods, taking a shaky breath.

“All right.” A moment, a slow exhale, and then, “Do you want to try again?”

He inhales, nodding. Here is not where he wants to stop this, not where he wants the night to end.

“All right, then.”

Rose kisses him, the slow, languid, open-mouthed kiss he’d wanted before, and he savors her taste on his tongue. Still holding his hand, she rises, swallowing, and looks down at him, on his knees before her.

“I really like what I see, Doctor.” She speaks softly, gently. “Do you?”

He nods, swallowing, gazing up at those soft whiskey eyes that remind him of the Vortex, strong and deep, ever-changing, mesmerizing; those eyes that now gaze at him with a touch of concern, with care, with a spark of lust rekindling, and with so much love he’s afraid his hearts will burst trying to hold it all.

His voice rasps over the back his throat as he speaks, the most honest words he can find. “Yeah, I do. I love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/164770175511/she-peels-off-her-t-shirt-flings-it-to-some).


	9. Eleventh

He keeps them in his leather jacket because he always has that with him, keeps them there so he can brush his fingers over them occasionally, reassure himself. They're nothing special, cheap nickel the silver paint has worn off of, with charms clipped on some would consider childish, a dolphin, a medal, ballet slippers, a rose, but they're hers. They're hers and now they're his, too, in a way; he's the only one who wears them any more, in those glorious moments when he's entirely hers, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163934593591/he-keeps-them-in-his-leather-jacket-because-he).


	10. Twenty-First

He devours her, like a wolf might devour a rabbit, like his guilt devours him. He marks her skin with his teeth, pink-red, bright and accusing, her heart racing in her chest, but she’s offered, enfolded herself into his arms and pressed her lips to his and now he can’t stop. He shouldn’t do this, but he can’t help it, can’t bear to stop, because if he does it will all come rushing back, the screams, the soot on his hands, the blaze that devoured it all in a heartbeat.

And yet it does, still, not even her scent, her presence, able to block it out entirely. “Hurt me,” he begs, the words tumbling out before he’s aware of them. He catches sight of the spot his mouth has just left, an ugly bruise already purpling her skin, and more shame floods over him, sinking deep into lungs. Quietly, he surrenders his air as the weight pulls him under, his head spinning in a sea of guilt.

“Doctor.” Rose’s voice is perhaps the only thing that could cut through to him now. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is.” Hard, cold. It is, it’s his fault they’re dead. It’s his fault they all burned.

“You couldn’t have known. I would have done the same thing you did.”

His gaze flicks to her for a brief instant, his exhale slow, and he says nothing.

She cups his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “It’s not your fault.” A short, hesitant pause, and then, “The TARDIS told me it was a fixed point. There was nothing you could have done. It’s not your fault, Doctor.”

“That almost makes it worse. Hurt me, Rose. Please. I need to feel —” he stumbles to a stop, words deserting him.

“You need to feel what?” Her voice is soft, but she’s not letting him get away with it this time, with leaving his needs unvoiced, whether or not she knows them (and he suspects she does).

“I need to feel — like I’ve paid. And been forgiven. Like I’m not just some tool of the universe to rain destruction.” He closes his eyes, the words heavy on his tongue and heavier when they fall from his lips, pieces of his heart ripped from his chest.

She doesn’t respond, for several moments, and he fears the worst, hearts tapping erratically against his ribcage. Then her hands slide down his shoulders, his arms, a caress that draws out the heaviness beneath his eyes, that makes him blink in bewilderment. Slowly, she wraps her fingers around his wrists, to mimic the feel of their bracelets, a soft, comforting pressure, and for a brief moment, some of the weight falls from his mind. “All right?”

He nods, taking a deep breath. It’s calming already, as he prepares to lose himself in her.

She raises their hands to rest her fingers on either side of his neck. Then she digs them in, drags them down his shoulders to rest just above his arms, deep gouges he knows will bruise and he’ll feel for days. The pain, sharp and insistent, is a relief, and he eagerly anticipates more.

Yet she stops there, and he looks up, pleading silently with her to continue.

“I forgive you, Doctor.” She holds his gaze, speaking each word slowly. “I’ve already forgiven you. Now I need you to forgive yourself.” Pressing a chaste yet thorough kiss to his lips, she looses her fingers from around his wrists again, lacing them between his and laying their palms together. “Can you do that?”

It’s hardly what he deserves, but for her — he inhales, slowly, and nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/164993397506/he-devours-her-like-a-wolf-might-devour-a-rabbit).


	11. Thirteenth

The crystals and metals glitter, nearly blinding in the high Seviia suns, and Rose pulls him over to the jeweler’s stand by their joined fingers. Nearly immediately, she’s drawn to a golden bracelet inset with blue stones, and holds it out for his inspection. “What do you think? The blue matches your eyes.”

He smiles, touched. “If you like it.”

Brushing his fingers over the materials to check their veracity, turning it around in his hands to examine the construction, the mechanics of the hinges, he nods, satisfied, and passes it back to her. He’s turning to the vendor to ask the price, when she adds, “Well, aren’t you gonna try it on?”

“That’s supposed to be for me?” Startled, his tone turns harder than he means it to. “You know I don’t wear jewelry, Rose.”

Hurt flashes across her face. “Yeah, you do, sometimes.”

 _Kneeling before her, as she clips her bracelets around his outstretched wrists_ , flashes across his mind’s eye. He inhales sharply, then clears his throat, his voice softening. “What’s wrong with the ones we’ve got?”

She glances down, grimacing, and sets the bracelet back down on the vendor’s table. “I got those for ten quid when I was twelve. The silver paint’s coming off. Don’t you remember, we said we’d buy something to use?”

  
They had, at the beginning, when the TARDIS had refused to let them into the wardrobe room, something about what she might provide “lacking appropriate significance,” and they’d used the only two of Rose’s bracelets they could get on him, old charm bracelets he’d found at the bottom of her jewelry box. Between saving the world a time or twelve, he’d forgotten all about getting new ones.

“Right, we did.” Vague disappointment washes over him, and he forces the words over his lips, feeling more vulnerable than when he’s kneeling at her feet. This doesn’t seem like it should matter so much. “But I’ve gotten a bit attached the ones we’ve got.” A beat, a nerve-wracking moment as her face twists in confusion, another deep breath before he speaks again. “They’re yours.”

  
She smiles, though it’s tight, bittersweet, and reaches to wrap her arms around him. “I just want you to have something nice.” Her voice is small, mumbled against his chest, nearly lost among the murmur of the crowds around them.

  
He drops a kiss to the top of her head. “Rose, I don’t care about that.”

“I know…” She takes a deep breath. “I just — It was something we made do with before now, yeah? But I don’t want to make do for that.”

He lays his head atop hers, slowly rocking them back and forth. “I understand.” Disquiet still churns in his stomach, as his mind casts about for some acceptable compromise. “Maybe we could get a new bracelet, but keep the charms?”

She glances up, wrinkling her nose. “Could we get new charms? They could be the same things.”

A moment, he thinks it over; suddenly, he can see it, a bright silver chain, engraved with roses, the charms hanging off it reproduced in delicate detail, and he grins. “I think the TARDIS has got something for us now.”

Rose’s eyes widen; she squeezes him tight, squealing, and drags him back to the ship.  
Laid out on their bed, the pair of bracelets glint invitingly, a few more charms added that the TARDIS seems to think appropriate: a wolf, a star, the ship herself (at least her current form). Rose picks them up, examines them with barely contained glee, holds one out to him. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t have to touch them to know. “Indeed they are.” He thanks his ship, profoundly, senses her pleasure as it fills the room, echoing off their own.

Rose bites her lip, and his gaze catches on that, and suddenly he wants — “Do you want to use them?”

He’s nodding, eagerly, down on both knees now, hands outstretched. She leans in and kisses him languidly, thoroughly, as she clasps the first around his left wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/164354413026/the-crystals-and-metals-glitter-nearly-blinding).


	12. Thirty-Fourth

“Doctor?” she says, low, in that pondering way she has by now that makes him shiver slightly with anticipation. “How do you feel about Jack?”

His stomach swoops. “’M really more of a one-woman bloke, I’d say.”

She’s watching him carefully. “I never said for yourself.”

That’s how he thought she meant it, but wanted to pretend… Is he not enough? But he wants her happy — she must see the war in him, because she stands, approaches, reaches for his hands, eyes downcast.

“I just thought it might be fun, yeah?” Her voice roughens, tightens. “It just popped into my head a while back and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, both of you all over me — but it doesn’t have to be anything more than an idea if you don’t want.”

A moment ago, he would have said he doesn’t — yet something in him trembles hotly at the thought. “’M not sure how I feel,” he admits, and she nods.

“We can just keep thinking and talking about it then.” Her grin broadens, and she looks up at him again. “Is there anything you want?”  
Mutely, he shakes his head.

She bites her lip, darting her gaze down his body, and back up. “I also realized there was something I haven’t done in a while.”

“Oh?” He can’t help being intrigued, though the back-and-forth of it all leaves him feeling a bit dizzy.

“Mhm.” She knows him well; he can see the concern creasing her forehead, feel it curling off her. “Come sit with me.”

He settles happily onto the couch beside her, her curled into his shoulder, his arms around her. Her hand rests on his thigh, not teasing, just quietly intimate, the curl of her fingers perhaps a touch possessive in a way he basks in. “What were you thinking of?” he asks after a moment, curiosity and the embers of arousal combining to get the better of him.

“I want your dick in my mouth,” she blurts out. “And I’d want that — that’s irrelevant of Jack.”

It’s fumbling, but he understands what she means. Her lack of fine control over her side of their bond means more often than not he can get an inkling of what she feels: warm care, the fluttering heartbeat of nerves, the coiling wisp of desire to match his own.

“With—?”

She seems to know exactly what he’s about to ask, because her expression twists wryly. “I want to say without the bracelets, for once, but knowing us I sort of think me telling you what to do will slip in somehow anyways.”

“We can just try and see how it goes.” Breaking with their established dynamic, even if just for once… the prospect feels almost daring, transgressive, like that moment not so very long ago when he couldn’t (didn’t) keep himself from inviting her to spank him again. It excites him, in more ways than one.

She nods, and then her lips are on his and she’s half-atop him, and he wouldn’t wish anything more from paradise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next chapters were not (yet, as of the time of this posting) published on tumblr. But for the sake of completeness, here they are.


	13. Thirty-Fifth

She looks up at him, hair tumbling into her face, stretched out languidly along the foot of the bed, tangled in sheets and wearing nothing else. Her tongue traces a languid pattern over his cock, swirling over the head. He’s tempted to decipher what he’s nearly certain she’s trying to say to him, but if he lets himself think too much he’ll want to make this about her again, somehow.

Rose is  _good_  at this, and she soon chases conscious thought from his awareness. He throbs, impending orgasm tightening between his legs, and he can’t help groaning, can’t not offer her this, slipping a bit of that pleasure over their young bond.

She smiles, hums her appreciation, but it’s laced with something else — a melancholy, a hope not quite realized. She’s holding something back; he can see it her eyes, feel it in the brush of her fingers. She’s not ready for this to be over; she wants her control. But she would give him this.

He tries to hold back, for her, for both of them, because as good at this is, it could — but just that light graze of her teeth draws him over the edge, and he comes with a hoarse cry.

She draws out his orgasm, stroking him through it and swallows, running her tongue over her lips. Then she crawls up beside him, her body warm against his even in his heated state, and sets her head on his shoulder. He’s spent, in the best of ways, but he wraps his arm around her and draws her. Sometimes, he still marvels that this bright, brilliant girl wants to be with him like this, but he’s far beyond questioning it, just grateful.

“That wasn’t quite what you’d hoped for, was it?” he asks her, softly, lips to her hair.

She laughs, a little wryly. “It was nice. It was good. But I wanted to tell you not to come.”

“I thought so.” He offers her a lopsided smile.

She turns her face to his chest and murmurs something he doesn’t quite catch, though her worry sparks through him like a gentle shock.

He combs her hair back from her face. “What was that, love?”

She clears her throat. “Do you think I’m broken?” It’s not exactly hesitant, because there’s little she’s truly insecure about; this is pondering, exploring a place she’s not sure she wants to be. Her voice is small. “That I can’t really have sex now without at least thinking about pain or power?”

“No! No, Rose, why would you think that?” He can only think to kiss her, hold her to himself, and he sets his lips to her forehead, her nose, anywhere he can. “There are hundreds of species who —”

She cuts him off. “Yeah, I’m not talking about aliens — other alien species. I’m a human. So far as I know still.”

“No, Rose, you’re not broken.” He’s a bit drowsy, but this is important. “If you’ve found something that suits you better, there’s no reason to go back to what you were doing before.” He doesn’t just mean this.

“Suppose so.” She worries at her lip.

“I wanted to go back to it, too.” He traces a hand down along her side. “Felt a bit selfish, to be honest. I’d like to repay you.”

She exhales, and it’s half amused and half wry. “I dunno if I’m up for that right now. I’ve got to… Get used to it.”

“Later?” Because he can tell she is at least somewhat aroused, and he closes his eyes against the very vivid sense memories of his mouth between her legs, and he  _wants_.

“Probably.” Smiling at him, she combs her fingers through his hair. “You can relax a bit for now.”

He nods, closing his eyes and basking in her skin on his.


	14. Thirtieth

He has no qualms letting Rose lead him through the TARDIS, her finger looped through the silver bracelets on his wrists, a blindfold over his eyes and not another stitch on him. Her deft guidance does little to calm the excited staccato of his heartbeat. In the wardrobe room she finally stops and unties the blindfold.

"Pick something for me to wear." Already perusing the racks, she trails her fingertips over his skin. "And I'll pick something for you." A flash of a grin. "Then we'll play."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/168589654956/he-has-no-qualms-letting-rose-lead-him-through-the).


	15. Twenty-Fifth

"Tie clip, riding crop, banana…“ The Doctor names each item as he fishes it out of his jacket pocket and adds it to the ever-growing pile of miscellaneous items on the Tyler kitchen table. Rose is enjoying the look on her Mum’s face, just a little.

“Has he got the kitchen sink in there, too? How does he keep all of that in there?”

“His pockets are like the TARDIS, Mum. They’re bigger on the inside.”

“Can I get a shopping bag like that?”

“Nope. Steel faucet, yo-yo — why’ve I got a yo-yo? — oh, these are for the Milana railcars, don’t know why I’ve kept these chips, they’re of no use to me now. Different biosignature than I had when I got these,” he adds, as if in explanation, circling his index finger to indicate his face.

Rose grimaces. They haven’t exactly explained the whole regeneration bit to her mum yet, that he could theoretically show up one day with a new different body and personality —

“How do you mean, different biosignature?”

The Doctor freezes, glancing at Rose, and then pats around the interior of the pocket. “Right, that’s it for that one — I promise you, Rose, I did put it in one of my pockets…” He begins digging around in the left.

“What’s a biosignature?” Her mum is nothing if not persistent.

“It’s, like a fingerprint. Something about your body that’s unique to you, that you can be identified with. Or like those new pass photos they’re having everyone get now — Doctor, what’s it called again?”

“Towel, ration pills — biometric, Rose — flux capacitator, oh, here’s that replacement circuitry for the temporal sensors, I’ve been looking for that…”

“The biometric photos.”

“So he can change his face?” Rose glances back at the Doctor, who is concentrating very determinedly on his search for the little pair of sentient hair shears they got for her on Barataxxus. She’s on her own with this, though to be fair she hadn’t expected otherwise. Her mum’s warmed up to him, a bit, but he’s still not very good at talking with her.

“Sort of?” Rose can see how it might sound a bit daft. “If he’s about to die, he can give himself a new body. He’s the same person, though. Same memories and all.”

“So he could just show up one day and look like a completely different bloke?”

“Yeah. But he’d still be him.”

Jackie peers at him. “Has it happened before?”

“Eight times. Miniature swan-gong, Malleran headscarf — where are they?”

“Well, at least I know he won’t be leaving you all alone stranded on some planet in the twenty-thousandth century if someone gets a lucky shot in.”

Rose exhales, and grins. The worst is over. “Yep. I’m stuck with him.” She reaches out to run her hand down his forearm. “Maybe you put them in with the sonic or the bracelets? So you might actually find them again?” A glance at the towering pile on the table proves her point.

“Might have. Don’t think I put it in with the sonic, though, wouldn’t want to cut my finger on accident.” He pats down the regular pocket first, though, just to be sure. “Can’t think I would’ve put them in with your bracelets, though, either, love,” he adds, low.

“What’s he doing carrying bracelets around? Are they like handcuffs or something?” They're working on the gender roles stuff, too, but some ideas her mum just won't let go of.

Rose stiffens, feeling the red rising in her cheeks, her mind suddenly blank. She casts a helpless look at the doctor, catches a moment of his shocked mirth before he conceals it from her.

“Yep, just like handcuffs. Exactly like handcuffs. Same use handcuffs have got. All the same ones.” His grin is a bit too broad, and her mum is beginning to peer at him suspiciously.

Rose tugs on his arm. “Doctor.” She’s anxious to be out of here now, out of range of her mother’s possible further questions. “Why don’t we go back to the TARDIS and look for ‘em? Because it doesn’t seem like you put them in your jacket like you thought. Maybe they crawled out last night or something. Doctor? Let’s go.” He’s all too happy to follow her. “We’ll be back for the stuff in moment, Mum, sorry!”

She just barely hears her mum’s indignant huff as they shove open the door. “I don’t think I even want to know that one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/166161616661/e-clip-riding-crop-banana-the-doctor-names).


	16. Thirty-Sixth

Lying back on the bed, he waits for her as she told him to, the taste of her lingering on his lips and tongue, his nose and cheeks still wet. The silver chain links smooth against his wrists anchor him even as he might wish to let himself drift; they bind him to her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

She returns from their bathroom, naked and utterly confident in it. He feasts his eyes on her, and she smiles, slow and a little devious as she climbs back onto the bed. “You look like you’re getting ideas.” It’s light, teasing. “I thought that was my job.”

“Can hardly help getting ideas when you look at me like that, can I?” he murmurs.

She runs her tongue along the edge of her delighted grin and runs her nails up his inner thigh. He may have already come once but he’s half-hard again, and she knows exactly how to tease him, stroking him, circling her thumb over the tip, ever so slowly shifting to lie down. She runs her tongue up his shaft, a bloody tease; he twitches, beginning to leak precum.

She looks him in the eye. “Don’t come until I give you permission. You’re mine, Doctor, and I want to enjoy this. I want to hear you beg.”

She closes her lips around him and he arches into her mouth, his awareness shrinking to this connection with her. He’ll try not to outright beg for a little while, but he still can’t help her name crossing his lips, almost reverent. “Rose!”

He feels her smile, her pleased hum as she takes him quite literally in hand.


	17. Twenty-Third

He stops in the doorway, takes a moment to take her in, and he can’t help but grin at how at home she looks in their — previously his — bed, curled up with a book.

“Rose?”

She glances up, a smile blossoming over her face. “Yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, he pulls their silver bracelets from his pocket, offering them to her as he approaches. “Do you want…?”

Her expression twists, indecision written in the lines of her forehead, and she nibbles nervously on her bottom lip. “I don’t know, Doctor. ’M not feeling so great tonight, a bit tired.”

Running and hiding from giant three-legged Venus flytraps for four hours will do that to almost anyone, really. Even he’s tempted to grab an hour or two of sleep outside of his usual schedule. “All right, then.” Exhaling — slowly, so as not to let it turn into the sigh he might want to make — he nods, beginning to pocket the silver chains again.

“Wait.” Her fingers close around his forearm. “Would it be okay if you — if you just drew me a bath?”

“Of course, if you like.” It’s not about the sex — though of course he likes that bit, too — but about the connection to her, that intangible precious thing where he is so obviously hers and she is somehow his, too.

“All right, then.” She sets a bookmark in her place and slips out of the bed, holding a hand out for the bracelets. He gives them to her gladly, already getting down on his knees. Leaning in to kiss him softly, Rose clips the bracelets on his wrists, left then right, their little ritual. A spark of deep affection blossoms in his chest, for a split second, both his and not-his, one of many such moments lately. Then she takes his hand and draws him up and it’s gone. She flashes him a smile.

He really doesn’t try very hard not to take in the sway of her hips as she leads him, still grasping his hand, to their ensuite. She could wait outside as he prepares everything, continue reading, but she only rarely lets him leave her sight while her bracelets are on his wrists, and he’s grateful. It’s not something they’ve even put quite like that, but after the first few fumbling, sometimes tear-ridden times she seemed to realize it’s her attention he craves, her focus, her presence in this fleeting moment — and he knows just how precious a moment is — and she gives it to him. He doubts he’ll ever be able to let her know how much it means to him, that she indulges his craving for such swaths of her short human life. 

Rose sits on a small stool and watches quietly. The first few times he’d done something like this for her she’d clenched, hunched slightly in her seat, tense and nervous — unused to sitting while someone else did something, she told him afterwards. But now she simply waits, patiently, watching without overseeing, offering him a fond if slightly tired smile when he glances at her. He takes care to put in just the right amount of scented oil, lines up her shower gel, shampoo, and conditioner neatly where he can reach, tests the water for temperature, leaves a slow trickle of hot water running to keep it warm, just how she likes. “You can get in now.”

He stands, pulling the second stool from the corner of the room to set it beside the large tub, and when he turns back she’s peeling off her cotton shorts and pants, her torso already bare.

“You didn’t have to fetch the stool,” she says, quietly, glancing at the floor. “You can get in with me if you want. I should’ve said. But you don’t have to.” Her gaze searches his face, uncertain.

“Do you want me to get in with you?” He hadn’t assumed she’d want —

“Do you want to get in with me?” She arches her eyebrows, and he recognizes the brief, no-nonsense question there — does he want her to call a halt to discuss this properly? They’ve gotten caught up in this before, this too-careful dance of only-if-you-want-me-to, and so he answers bluntly this time.

“Yeah, I’d like to.”

“Good.” A smile quirks her lips, and she tilts her head towards the tub. “Strip and get in, then.” She scoots forwards to make room for him behind her. The water, warm for her human temperature, is hot to him, but he’ll adjust to it in a few minutes. Leaning back against his shoulder, she turns her head to nuzzle against the hollow of his neck, her forehead against his jaw. 

“Shall I start?” He reaches for her floral-scented shower gel, but she shakes her head.

“Let’s just sit here a moment,” she mumbles, reaching for his arm to wrap it around her, holding his hand in hers to her sternum.

He’s half-hard against the small of her back — because it’s  _Rose_ and she’s wet and naked in his arms, her skin against his, almost overwhelming sometimes, still — but he ignores it. “Thank you.” He drops a kiss to her hair, laying his cheek to the top of her head as he wraps his other arm around her. “For doing this tonight.”

“’M not doing much of anything, Doctor,” and it’s half a laugh as she twists, her breath cool on his skin. “But you are.”

Letting him let her be the center of his world, just for a brief time, and making him a focus of hers, without making him a focus at all — he’s tried to tell her, in clumsy English words that never say it quite right, what it means to him. “All right.”

Her lips brushing his chest twitch up in a brief smile, and he smiles himself. Sometimes she understands anyways. Shifting against him, she lets out a small noise, half a mewl, half a purr, and contentment washes over him — not his, though he couldn’t be happier than in this moment — and he stiffens, his hearts suddenly racing.

“Doctor?” Rose sits up a little, dropping their joined hands to her thigh and craning her head to look at him. “Is everything all right?”

He swallows, once, heavily, checks with the TARDIS:  her ecstatic chirrups are nearly deafening, so he’ll take that as a confirmation. His hearts haven’t budged from clogging the base of his throat. “Everything’s — everything’s fine, Rose.” He means to speak softly, but his voice rasps in his throat. He clears it; it doesn’t help. “I can — I could feel how you felt, just now. Didn’t think it humans could do that.”

“I wasn’t doing anything.” She wrinkles her brow, turning to fully face him and straddling his thighs. “Is something wrong? Did I get some plant spit on me that makes everyone able to read my thoughts, or something?” He can see the tension drawing up her shoulders, stiffening her neck, and he smooths his free hand down her arm.

“No. The TARDIS checks for contaminants, remember? It’s not that.” A deep breath: his big Time Lord brain is still trying to wrap around this, how it might be possible that the universe would grant him this, grant him her, this way, something he thought he’d never have again. “It’s good. It’s — I said I would be able to feel other Time Lords in my head, yeah?” She nods, listening. “We’re telepathic. Most things just work through touch, but we can sense the presence of other Time Lords — and if we were close with someone, we could communicate with them, share our thoughts or feelings.”

“And you think that’s what’s happening?” She’s watching him, closely, biting her lower lip.

“The TARDIS certainly does.” He glances up at the ceiling as the ship lets out another series of high-pitched whistles.

Rose breaks into a grin. “I think I almost heard that.” Her smile fades a bit as she looks back at him, though, her gaze suddenly focused on nothing at all. Fear blindsides him like a Class Apple-Seven-Diamond cargo freighter.

“Is that —” He sucks in air, to force the words out. “Are you all right with that?” How swiftly he’s accepted it surprises the more logical, detached corner of his mind, and maybe he’s felt this coming, subconsciously suspected it, or hoped for it, even. He’s not sure he can bear to lose this, but for her, if she doesn’t want it…

“It’s a bit creepy, knowing someone can tell what you’re thinking.” She’s chewing on her lip, worrying at it, her anxiety crashing over to him, reinforcing the fear spurring his quick-beating hearts.

“Not thinking. At least not yet. Just feeling. I can — I can tell you’re anxious. There are ways to control it, and I’m sure ways to undo it or completely block it if you wanted —” His words are speeding up, stumbling over each other, frantic, as their timelines twist and flex in his head. Only her gaze locked to his, the sensation of her hips on his thighs and her fingers between his anchor him here and now.

“I didn’t say that, Doctor.” She inhales, squeezing his hand in hers. “You can relax a bit. I can tell this is important to you. I just… need some time to get used to the idea.”

Slowly, his fear ebbs, and she exhales with him. “I was — I was projecting my own emotions to you just then, wasn’t I? Rose, I’m sorry —”

“It’s all right. You were upset, you probably didn’t remember there was someone here who could pick up on them.” One corner of her mouth twitches up, wryly. “At least I know now.  _We_ know.” He nods, swallowing, and she glances down to their joined hands, running her thumb over his skin, brushing against the bracelet on his wrist. “Is it all right — could we go back now? Just to cuddling. In this nice warm bath you’ve done for me.” A hesitant smile, playing across her lips, a touch of tongue at the corner — he nods, unable to do anything other than smile back. 

“Come here.” He wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, his precious girl — and he hopes so desperately she’ll choose to stay with him, like this — bonding, he can still scarcely believe it. Maybe looking into the heart of the TARDIS had something to do with—

“I felt that.” There’s a little awe in her voice as she draws back again. “How you feel about me…” Her gaze searches his expression. “But your mind’s somewhere else again now, isn’t it? Do you — do you want to stop?”

He meets her eyes. “I guess I still have get used to it, too, process it and all. Humans aren’t supposed to be able to do that.”

“Can we talk about all of it tomorrow, Doctor? Please.” She’s tired, and he’s being a bit of an arse.

“Yeah, 'course we can.”

She looks down at their hands with a small, wry laugh, flicking the wolf charm with her thumb. “Should I take them off?”

He exhales, slowly, a quiet sigh. “Might be best, yeah. I’m — still getting my head around it.“

She nods, disappointment flashing briefly across her face — a quiet flicker in his own chest, there and gone, one he wouldn’t have even noticed if her hadn’t known — before she leans in to kiss him. Quickly, she unclips the bracelets and sets them on the rim of the tub, trailing her fingers over them briefly before she nestles into him again, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her arms around him. “This all right?”

He nods, inhaling, and relaxes, though his mind is still spinning, orbiting, slowly approaching the point where it all truly sinks in. “This is always all right.”

“You know,” she says, and his attention snaps back to her. “I think it was better we were doing that when you figured it out. I think it made me a bit less… I dunno, worried? I was still in charge. Even though it was just us two talking, my head was still a bit where I was looking after you. Even though you were looking after me.” She lets out a small noise — of frustration, he guesses. “I don’t feel like I’m saying it well.”

Stroking his hand down her back, he hugs her a bit closer to him. “I understood you. I’m glad it worked like that for you, love.” The endearment falls from his lips without any thought on his part, and tension fills him as he realizes what he’s said — tension he’s careful not to let tighten his arms around her or slip through his mental barriers this time. He can feel her smile against his skin, though, the shock of happiness spiking through her, and grins.

“Do you still want to wash my hair for me?” She lifts her head from his shoulder, easy joy practically radiating from her. “It’s all right if you don’t.”

“Do you want me to wash you hair for you?” He waits just a split second, for the beginning of that arch look, and grins at her. “Yeah, I’d like to.”

She huffs faux-indignantly and shoves the shampoo at him, tucking her tongue into the corner of her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/165921724781/he-stops-in-the-doorway-takes-a-moment-to-take).


	18. Thirty-First

Rose saunters into the console room, and for a moment he fears his heart has stopped; she’s wearing _that_ dress, her neck and shoulders bare, her hair tumbling down just begging him to run his fingers through it, her stockinged feet otherwise bare on the console grating, like a vision straight out of fantasies he didn’t even know he had.

She’s smiling, watching him, the satisfied little smile on her face telling him this is all-too-deliberate (gloriously deliberate). “It’s all right, Doctor, you can say it. Just, maybe without that ‘for a human’ bit this time.”

And like that, he’s gone, sinking to his knees without a second thought, sinking into her, into this. With slightly unsteady hands he draws her, his, their bracelets from his jacket and offers them to her. “You’re beautiful.”

She wrinkles her forehead, approaching, sets a hand to his cheek. “Doctor? I didn’t mean…” Meeting his eyes, she trails off, and then inhales sharply. He thinks she understands, and _oh_. She’s excited, suddenly, and he’d love to back her against the console, her leg over his shoulder, and —

“I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to start — I just thought you might like it.” 

A soft smile, her question even softer. “You want to play?”

He nods, finding his voice again, his awareness for once centered back on the here and now and her, only her. “Yeah.”

“All right.” Thoroughly, she kisses him, as she clips the chains around his wrists, a small, welcome weight. When she steps back there’s a certain lift in her chin, a little more confidence in her bearing, and he falls that much deeper. Her voice, though, is still kind, as she asks, “What do you want to do for me, Doctor?”

He tells her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/169172678686/rose-saunters-into-the-console-room-and-for-a).


	19. Thirty-Third

Her kiss is slow, leisurely, almost chaste as she unclips the silver bracelets from his wrists. He’s not entirely himself again, not quite, but she takes his hand and draws him up onto the bed with her, wrapping her arms around him, and he recovers a little more of himself.

He hugs her to his chest; she’s still wearing that dress, the fabric soft against his skin, warmed by hers. Her bare legs slip between his, and he smiles at the memory, so vivid, of peeling the sheer fabric off of them, of brushing the back of her knee and feeling her shiver not only beneath his fingers but in his mind, a tiny loss of her hard-won control over the bond between them.

“I liked feeling what you did.” He doesn’t try to stop the words, doesn’t fear them, not in this space so close to reality and yet so far from it. “I liked knowing I was doing well. That I could do that for you.”

“I’ll remember that.” She presses her lips to his chest, rests them there for a moment before she turns her head to lie down on him again.

“Please do. And rummage around in the wardrobe all you like.” A grin spreads across his face, one that would almost be lascivious if he hadn’t just orgasmed.

“As if there was anything stopping me before,” she reminds him, tongue tucked between the edges of her grin. She gazes at him, searching for something, and that smile slowly fades.

“What?” Self-consciousness hovers just on the border of this space they create, space that is slowly but steadily shrinking.

“Before… Did I do anything wrong?” Her voice doesn't tremble, not quite, but it's not far from it.

“I don’t think so.” He’s not sure where she’s getting that idea. “What makes you ask?”

“I dunno, you just seemed a bit, overwhelmed or something. When I came in.”

“I guess I was a bit overwhelmed.” He exhales, swallowing, and thinks back to that moment in the console room. “I wasn’t expecting it. An’ that you’d do that, for me… It sort of already put me in this place.”

She hums her understanding. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’ll try not to again —” her bright, slightly mischievous grin, a glint in her eye that tells him there’s a catch he’ll love — “at least not without warning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/173146589226/her-kiss-is-slow-leisurely-almost-chaste-as-she).


	20. Twenty-Sixth

It’s not the first time he’s been in a Jerelen _kvasheri_ (though the last time, a long time ago, was with a very different purpose), so he watches Rose beside him on the small loveseat as she takes it in. Translucent humanoid Jerelens partially line the bar at the far end of the room, and he can guess how long each has been waiting on their liquid nourishment by the color of their skin, ranging from a cool, calm blue to green to a bright, irritated yellow. Some are even tapping on the bar with the fingers of all four of their hands, others simply propping their head up on a fist. Groups of various sizes are sprawled out on sofas and armchairs around the tables scattered about the room. On the far side of the room a couple and a group nod to each other as they pass on the stairway to the upper level. A low hum fills the air, the TARDIS translating the chatter but not filtering out the original melodic wordless tones of the Jerelen language. The Doctor and Rose aren’t the only foreigners here — in a far corner, two living trees are chatting with a hulking orange Ataxa — but they do stand out, even seated on a small, out-of-the-way loveseat.

“How come they’re not all sitting up straight like they’ve got sticks up their arses, like they usually do?” Rose lowers her voice, leaning in towards him.

“The _yvela_ smoke.” He gestures to the faint haze blanketing the room, produced by a machine in the corner. “It’s a natural relaxant for them — it’s not intoxicating, though.”

“Oh, I thought that was just for atmosphere or something. Like a fog machine.”

“Well, it is, for them. Sort of.”

“Is that why some of ‘em have gone all… gooey?” She examines one who looks more like a vaguely human-shaped glob of purple ooze than a Jerelan as one might see them on the street.

“Yeah. But they’ll be all right. They need a good dose of decompression every once in a while.”

She lets out a small snort of a laugh. _You can say that again. I’ve never seen such a bloody uptight people before. “I’m sorry, madam, but the y of your signature went below the lower line. I’m afraid we’ll have to draw up another copy.” I could hardly believe this planet is known for its kink clubs._ _  
_

_They can’t help being what they are._ _  
_

_I s'ppose you’re right._ She squeezes his fingers entwined with hers, briefly, and glances around again. _They look normal, though. Well, for them. Is letting their hair down like this already kinky for them, or something?_

_You saying we’re not normal? Or that we are? Because I might have to be insulted._

She laughs. _Dunno what I’m saying, really._

He glances down at her, takes in the way she looks up at him, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. _Are you all right?_

_Yeah. Just a bit… It’s a bit weird, talking about it like this. Being here._

_Do you want to leave?_

She shakes her head, and he nods. Leaning in, with his lips nearly touching her ear, he gestures towards the stairs and murmurs low, “This is just the lounge area, Rose.”

A shiver runs through her. “Oh.”

Drawing back, he recognizes the hungry glint in her eye even as pink tinges her cheeks, and she tugs him up. “What are we waiting for, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/166163193942/its-not-the-first-time-hes-been-in-a-jerelen).


	21. Twenty-Ninth

He can’t help but notice how she sticks close to him as they ascend the staircase to the upper level, her heart rate faster and her teeth worrying the edge of her smile. But it’s a good sort of nervous anticipation, one he feels, too, as he draws aside the heavy curtain.

The _yvela_ haze is thicker here; thankfully, it has no effect upon humans or Time Lords, aside from an uncomfortable tickle of his sinuses in this heavy a concentration. The lights are dimmer, too, the Jerelans’ natural, mild fluorescence all the brighter for it.

And glow they do, in all colors of the rainbow, from calm, blue contentedness from the couple kissing in the corner, to white-hot pain from the one being fit into a metal mold, to the deep violet lust radiating from the pair so intertwined and shapeless it’s truly impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, and all Rose and the Doctor can see is underlaid with the soft pink of happiness and pleasure.

Rose tilts her head to the side. “This… It’s all just moanin’, isn’t it?” Keeping her voice low, she twirls her finger through the air, a gesture likely intended to indicate the soft musical tones echoing throughout the open space.

“Most of it, yeah. Are you picking it up, a bit?” He grins at her, pride beginning to well up in his chest.

She bites her lip, a familiar, almost naughty sort of delight glinting in her eyes. “The TARDIS isn’t translating much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/168341923519/he-cant-help-but-notice-how-she-sticks-close-to).


	22. Thirty-Seventh

“Come with me?” Her words hover on the edge between a request and a demand as Rose reaches for his hand. In the back of his mind, the TARDIS perks up and fidgets. They’ve been working on something together, and his ship is as nervous as Rose is, now, their heartbeats skipping across his skin, as if he could reach out and touch them.

Rose stops in front of a door that offers no clues to what lies behind it. “Close your eyes?” She nibbles on her bottom lip, and he couldn’t refuse her. 

“Thank you.” Setting her hands on his chest, she rises on her toes, her breath brushing across his ear. “I really hope you like it.” Then she wraps her fingers around his wrists — a gesture he hopes is deliberate, hopes so very much it steals his breath — and guides him inside.   
She slips behind him, adjusting her grip on his hands, entwining their fingers. “Okay.”

The first thing he sees is the St. Andrew’s Cross, painted black, lacquer gleaming faintly in the soft light. To the side, draped in a pinkish red, sits a large canopied bed. And when he turns to face Rose, behind her arrayed on the wall like her wings of a dream come true are various toys he can’t help but hope she’ll someday use on him, floggers and paddles and canes, riding crops, even a whip that inspires an exciting frisson of fear.

“’S not too cliché?” Her smile is a bit wry. “I don’t even know how to use most of those yet, but the TARDIS seemed to think —”  _you’d like them_ , she finishes silently, a little sheepishly.

“Does it matter?” He disentangles their fingers to smooth her hair, cup her cheek.

She smiles, softly, leaning into his touch. “Well, yeah, I mean, if you don’t like it — ” She shrugs, but it’s not out of nonchalance.

He shakes his head, and softly presses his lips to hers, offering her all he feels: the deep soul-consuming warmth of how this gesture touches him, the excited-afraid-impatient anticipation, the heady swirl of joy and arousal, the way mere words fail him sometimes.

She draws back, and grins at him, that bright world-shattering smile. “Let me know when you want to cut the ribbon on it.”

“Have you got any specific time in mind?” Setting his hands on her hips, he offers her a hunter’s grin, and she narrows her eyes and holds out one hand.

Slowly, he digs their bracelets from his pocket and drapes them over her palm. Slowly, she curls her fingers around them, and meets his gaze. “Do you want me to make you wear these?”  _You want to break this in with a struggle scene?_

He nods, just a small movement, but he sees in the change in her expression that she’s understood. The TARDIS helpfully supplies mats for the floor. “I’d like to see you try.” 

She wraps her free hand around his sleeve. He begins to shrug out of his jacket, to shake her off; she lets go of the leather and curls her fingers into his jumper instead. He’s not sure whether she jerks him towards herself or launches herself at him, but now she stares up at him, a fierce sort of wanting lighting up her gaze. The sight never fails to make him weak in the knees.

She lifts her chin; she’s noticed, knows this will be over soon. It always is. He can’t resist her for long, never wants to, but to see her like this, to see another facet of how she wants him in so many ways, how she’ll chase him time and time again, for both their sakes…  
“Jumper, off.” She tugs on the fabric to illustrate her point. “And kneel. Hands up.”

He slowly, slowly does as she wants. She quickly, almost brusquely, clips the bracelets around his wrists, her kisses brief, almost harsh, but not quite. Circling behind him, she crouches down, hooking her elbow around his neck. Her warmth heats him, her knees on either side of his torso as she leans in to murmur in his ear, “You’re mine.”

 _Yes, I am_ , he tells her.


	23. Twenty-Eighth

_Doctor._

He frowns, jiggling the atomic regulator back into place.

 _What?_ It’s a bit sharper than he intended, and he sends her a mental image of the very finicky piece of electronics as an explanation, or maybe a sort of apology.

 _When you’re done, then._ He feels her withdraw, and it’s both what he needs and something he hates; finally he snaps the connector back into place, soldering it quickly with the sonic.

_What do you need?_

_I don’t need anythin’, love._ His heart still skips when she uses that endearment, speeds up at the hint of a purr he almost thinks he can hear in her tone. _Come here?_

Their bedroom — their bed — flashes through his mind, and he’s up and nearly running. (It doesn’t take much, these days, to get him up, in all senses of the word.) Still, he stops in front of their bedroom door, laying his forehead against it. _I was going to take you to dinner first. That’s how you humans do it, isn’t it?_

 _What, and not be able to enjoy the food because I’m too worked up thinking about this afterwards? Maybe ruin the dress because I’m dripping wet? I don’t think so._ He laughs, breathlessly, effortlessly, because it’s so very _Rose_ and he loves her. _Get in here, Doctor, I can feel you on the other side of the door._

He stills again, as he catches sight of her, lounging on the bed in silk knickers and a blue leather jacket hanging open, and absolutely nothing else. “I was going to give that to you later.” His words are wry, half a laugh lurking in them, as he sends his ship half a pout. But she looks as good in it as he’d known she would — better, even — and he can’t quite bring himself to be properly upset.

“I thought that might be the case.” She fingers the lapel, giving the TARDIS the mental equivalent of a side glance. The ship proves wholly unrepentant. “But I love it, and — well —” she tugs the collar away from her neck, revealing a little more skin, the inner curve of her breast — “you don’t mind, do you?”

Mind? Hardly, and he simply pushes the mess of emotions and desires swirling through his head towards her, unsure he could properly form them into words right now.

Her grin broadens. “I liked it better than the lingerie I’d had picked out.”

Striding over, he kisses her, soundly; she immediately opens her mouth, and slips her tongue between his lips. _I still want to see that outfit, Rose._

 _Some other time._ She’s getting cheeky, despite the moan she lets out and the way her legs fall a little further open; her hands are wandering over his arse, groping, squeezing him firmly.

He sets his hands on her hips, drawing her a little further towards him, swaying forwards to press his erection against her, to let her feel what she does to him. Rose hums her pleasure, nipping at his lower lip.

 _I had an idea._ It sounds almost a little shy.

Flexing his fingers, he grinds into her, the beginnings of a playful growl building in his throat. _I love when you get ideas._

 _You might blindfold me, or spank me, or somethin’. For a few special occasions._ Her breath heavy on his lips, she strokes her tongue along his. _If you wanted._

Fear, confusion, that tenderness that comes from being trusted like this, all race simultaneously through his veins — and those are only the emotions he can name. Swallowing, he draws back slightly, rests his forehead against hers. “You want that?” It’s a whisper, hoarse, and he tamps down the selfish fear of losing what he so cherishes, to keep it from spilling over to her.

Still, he suspects she catches a hint of it, because her expression twists: he can feel the twitch of her lips as they feather over his cheek. “If you don’t want it we don’t have to,” she murmurs. “It was just an idea. I like what we do.” The words are soft, her aura reassuring, and yet —

“You are satisfied, aren’t you, Rose? If you’re not —” His throat closes up. He’ll do almost anything to make her happy, she has to know —

“I am, Doctor, really. We’re fine the way we are. I wouldn’t even want to — I’d still want to be the one — deciding, I don’t know how to say it —” She sends him an image, a feeling: him holding the flogger, the candle, the handcuff key, her still calling the shots.

Wrapping her arms around him, one across his lower back, the other around his shoulders, Rose clutches him to her, tilting her head to press her lips to his neck. _I just sometimes wonder what it’s like on the other end, and I thought, maybe, just to change it up every once in a while. Not most of the time. Not even close._ And there’s a hint of that almost predatory intent he sees, sometimes, before she clips silver bracelets around his wrist and draws her nails over his skin. Maybe that’s what calms him the most.

“You still want to stay in charge?” He nuzzles her hair, breathing in the heady, familiar combination of strawberry shampoo and human pheromones, sweat and arousal and anxiety, too, and he hugs her to him.

 _Yeah, definitely._ She stills for a moment, swallowing. _Unless you don’t want —_

 _I want you to be._ He arches his neck away from her, tilts his head, searching for her lips; she meets them, the kiss hard and hungry, and he can practically taste her relief. _We’ll figure something out._

She nods, almost minisculely. “’M sorry if I upset you. I just thought — well, I guess it’s another stupid human tradition, to try to bring up new stuff like this. ‘Keep it alive’ or whatever — ’s not like we need it.” There’s a bit of a laugh to her voice at the end, and he grins, nipping at her bottom lip.

“Can’t say we do.” Then he sobers, slightly, smoothing his hands over her back, the leather soft under his fingers, before he dips a hand into the pocket of his own jacket, and draws out the delicate silver chains. “It’s not that I don’t want to explore any of that with you, Rose, but today could we just —?”

“Yeah, of course.” With one last kiss, she unwinds her arms from around him, and takes the bracelets he offers her.

Sinking to his knees, he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh; she nudges him with her leg. “Scoot back a bit, yeah?”

“It’s not like time means much of anything, in the TARDIS,” he says, as he shifts to give her room to stand. “Well, and years, one full revolution of Earth ‘round the sun — decent measure of time for you lot, least while you’re still Earthbound, but next to useless for the rest of us, really.”

“And yet,” Rose tosses her hair back over her shoulder as she bends down to fasten the bracelets around his wrists, and he swallows heavily as the jacket now covers very little at all, and then her lips are on his and he closes his eyes. _You were still planning on taking me someplace._

“Yeah,” he murmurs as she clips on the second bracelet, and she kisses him again.

“Happy Anniversary, Doctor,” Rose murmurs against his lips. “I do have something else for you, though.”

The heady scent of her arousal fills his senses, and he tilts his head, leaning forward slightly to mouth her through her knickers. _Later._ An idea strikes him as he runs his hands up the back of her thighs: he returns the greeting, spelling it out with his tongue against her clit.

Running her hands through his hair, Rose laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/167363230981/doctor-he-frowns-jiggling-the-atomic-regulator).


	24. Twenty-Fourth

The diners trickle into their places in the entrance procession, the drone overseer of ceremonies directing each couple to their position, the males preceding their mistresses. As guests of honor, the Doctor and Rose are placed near the end, followed only by the queen’s _dereshna_ and Her Majesty herself.

Rose squeezes his hand, clasped gently in hers. _If you want to back out, tell me._

_I will. But I’m really all right with this._

She nods, squeezing his hand.

The court may be aware of other, equal or patriarchal societies, but here guests are expected to follow Cavalleran custom, in appearance even if not in practice. If outsiders won’t conform, then they’re simply not included in such high ceremonies. There’s only one other non-Cavalleran couple here, Judoon, though honestly Rose can’t tell whether either of them are male, female, or something else entirely — even their dress clothes are an identical sort of loose, drab gray pantsuit.

It irks her, the inequality, but they’re not here to topple the sociopolitical order of things — at least not today. Today is a celebration, and today they’ll seem to conform. Yet this evening is also just for the two of them, and it sends a quiet thrill through her, the public display of this side of them, the knowledge of her bracelets tucked away under his cuffs, the secret that they’re still not like the others. He echoes her pleasure back to her, a shared quiet grin.

Finally, the shuffling of people organizing themselves ceases, and everyone seems to hold their breath as the chime sounds for the procession to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/166125114049/the-diners-trickle-into-their-places-in-the).


	25. Nineteenth

To watch Rose, you wouldn't know he's there, as she entertains her neighbors with the courtship customs of the Nm'o, as he massages her hand, runs his fingers over the tendons, digs into the base of her thumb.

But she's aware of him, so very aware; the moment she clips those silver chains on his wrists, her idle attention descends over him, protective, possessive. Now, it's the sensation of her fingers running through his hair, curling around his neck, and he ever-so-slightly leans in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/164811866506/to-watch-rose-you-wouldnt-know-hes-there-as).


	26. Eighth

He meets her eyes as he lifts the small red fruit to her lips, holds her gaze as she closes her teeth carefully over his fingers and curls her tongue around them. Swallowing the berry, she sucks briefly on the tip of his thumb and forefinger, then releases his hand.

Slowly, her gaze travels over him, kneeling on one knee beside her recliner like the other manservants in the dining room. Him feeding her isn’t new, and neither is him on his knees in front of his wife, but this, dictated by Cavalleran custom, the combination, the public setting, his tuxedo, all this is something else.

The others’ presence matters little to him either way, but he feels Rose’s pleasure like his own, and the way her gaze darkens further at the sight of him like this, promising sinful things as soon as they’re back in their room, or even a deserted hallway…

He’s hardening, sucking in a sudden deep breath. Taking another berry from the bowl on the small table, he slips it between her lips, and she takes longer this time, holding his fingers between her teeth more firmly, licking the tips, swirling her tongue around them.

Then — dear Gallifrey — he feels the sensation of her tongue on another part of his anatomy, hot and deft, and he can’t suppress a soft, surprised mewl. It echoes in the silence of the hall, and the others are staring now, but he only has eyes for Rose, hoping she won’t repeat that particular telepathic tease, hoping she will.

She smiles, slow and wicked, and softly sucks him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163809324901/he-meets-her-eyes-as-he-lifts-the-small-red-fruit).


	27. Tenth

The soft chime echoes through the hall, signaling the end of dinner, and Rose's eyes widen, her lip white where her teeth dig in. He's hard, fully erect, and she knows it, and now — _I'm sorry._

She stands, slowly, reaching to take his hand, glancing over to where the queen's _dereshna_ , her favorite servant and concubine, leads her out of the room, the beginning of a procession they're expected to join now.

 _I got a bit carried away. I wasn’t thinking._ Her regret, her apology, nearly drowns him, but he shoves it away.

 _Let them look._ He can feel her question, read it in the wrinkle of her brow, the purse of her lips as he rises. Her dull human senses don’t pick up his pheremones well, but the Cavallerans’ antennae… _They’ve known for a while._ And he refuses to be ashamed of it. Let them see how much he wants his Rose.

She blinks, and her gratitude, her wonder, her lust, send him reeling. Then she grins that grin that is his alone, and gently guides him with their joined hands to walk ahead. “Go on, then, Doctor.” Her grip on his hand an anchor and her voice in his mind murmuring soothing encouragement, he walks through the crowded room, slightly awkwardly, with his head high. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163876541496/the-soft-chime-echoes-through-the-hall-signaling).


	28. Twentieth

Formal ceremony over, everyone seems to exhale their relief as they exit the hall, even the queen. The procession splits at the doorway, each couple peeling off into the branching tunnel leading to their chambers. It’s plain which pairs will be awake for several hours more, the females’ gait practically a prowl behind their servants, the males’ antennae fluttering in excitement at the pheromones saturating the air.

  
As for him and Rose… She waits only until they’re beyond a curve, just barely out of sight of the others, before she tugs him to her, guides him down to his knees.  He’s a bit sore from the long banquet before, but he goes gladly, because they both love this, him looking up at her, the quiet devotion it brings out in them both. She holds his head to her, running her fingers through his hair, along the shell of his ear, down his neck. He breathes in the scent of her, basks in it, happy for it to replace his air.

She’s aroused, so very aroused; his mouth waters and he nuzzles as close to her center as he dares. “You know, I loved —” she swallows, her voice low and rough, still combing her fingers through his short-cropped hair — “I’m absolutely floored by how you want me. You showing everyone in that room how much you want me. Thank you.” Her appreciation, still slightly disbelieving, the lust and love that act stirred up, strong and warm, wash over him, nearly suffocating. He has no idea what to do with the feeling; he wanted to do that, as much as it embarrassed him, as much as it couldn’t have been helped that they knew.

“’S not like I had a say, me,” he mumbles, tentatively taking one side of that slit in her dress between his teeth — something he’s not been told to do, a slight imposition, but nonetheless a distraction.

Her hand on his head stills. “Of course you had a say. If you weren’t all right with it, I would’ve said sos their procession, or the rest of ‘em can wait however long they want for us.” Her voice trembles slightly, angry, as she tilts his head up to look at her, drawing her skirt from his mouth. Hurt boils in her eyes.

He shakes his head, swallowing, desperately. “I didn’t mean it like that. I wanted it.”

A moment, she examines his expression, then nods, the tension slowly draining from her. “The proper answer might’ve been ‘you’re welcome.’” She’s miffed, slightly, still.

Bowing his head to nuzzle at her, to brush a kiss to the closest part of her, he murmurs, “That would’ve felt wrong to say, love. If you hadn’t wanted me to do it, I still — I still might’ve wanted to.” The tips of his ears heat up. “Of course it was for you, but…” Words fail him — yet still, she nods, understanding, her ire gone.

“You want that to happen again?” The words are deceptively soft. He can sense her glee, her hunger, only barely kept in check; he’s opened the door to something new and enticing to play with, and his heart skips a beat in pleasantly anxious anticipation, at what she might think of.

“Yeah.” He swallows, digs his teeth into her stomach, into the slight pouch she hates and he loves. Inhaling sharply, she curls her fingers against his scalp, the scrape of her nails welcome.

“Tonight?” Breathless, she slides her hand around to the front of his neck. He drops his grip and looks up at her like she wants, into whiskey eyes wild with the promise of sin and excitement, and feels himself begin to tremble. It’s the perfect place, here on Cavallera 19. Females may do with a willing male whatever they like, whenever, wherever; the canvas walls conceal little sound or light anyways.

Another couple from the festival, one that must have been near the back, pass them with little more than a glance. Still, he feels himself twitch, throb, as if he wasn’t already hard. Rose’s lashes flutter, and she purrs, “Is that a yes?”

He nods. A grin feral with glee spreads across her face, and he can’t help but match it, breathing shallow, hearts racing. She turns around, bracing herself on one of the support struts of the wooden frame, and glances over her shoulder. “Come here and shag me senseless, then, Doctor. I know you want to.”

***

He fucks her right there in the hallway, opens his trousers and pulls her dress and knickers out of the way and presses into her, basking in her slow, luxuriant groan. She’s slick, practically dripping, but so very tight, and she’s been teasing him for what feels like half the night; he might try to take it slow, but this is going to be fast whether he wants it to or not.

Rose clenches around him, and he shudders, nuzzling her neck through her hair, inhaling the scent of her, strawberry and sweat, sliding his hand around to search for her clit as he tries to set a slow, hard rhythm. At his first thrust, she mewls, loud, and his hearts trip over themselves for a moment as he remembers where they are, her arms braced against the wooden beam, somewhere nearby the rustling of carapace on carapace on canvas.

“ _Rose_ ,” and it’s wrecked, as he sets his teeth to her shoulder, heedless of the hair in his mouth. Her reply is a gasp, his name nearly unintelligible as he begins to stroke her, as she runs the fingers of one hand through his hair, holding his head to her. He digs his teeth in just a little more, then lightens the pressure, then bites down again, and Rose shudders underneath him.

“Right there, yes, _fuck_ I’m going to come.”

***

Rose grins at him as she turns, adjusting her knickers, and leans back against the wooden support, lax, radiating affection and contentment. An answering smile spreads over his lips as he fits his softening cock back inside his trousers, fighting the sudden lethargy in his limbs. She reaches out one hand, takes his, reading him with a glance. “Room?”

He nods.

The evening has tired her, too, and they make their way back in silence, side by side, holding hands. Her attention still hovers over him, a caress, but it’s slow, almost more a cuddle.

She draws the curtain fully closed behind them, watches as he goes to kneel in the center of the room. Softly, she speaks, so her voice won’t carry, a murmur meant just for them. “You were fantastic, Doctor. Thank you. You were absolutely…” Words fail her, and so she floods their bond with feeling instead, deep appreciation, affection, a little awe, the sense of something precious, treasured. Approaching, she runs her fingers through his hair, guides him to look up at her. “Pick a reward for next time, if you like.”

He immediately knows what he wants: “You haven’t spanked me properly in a while.”

She purrs, “I suppose we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

He grins. “Please do.”

She nods, leaning down to kiss him, slowly, a brush of lips against one another, again and again, a conversation of love without words.  
He offers his wrists, and she unclasps the bracelets, first the left, then the right. Knees a bit sore, he stands; she offers the bracelets back to him, and he tucks them into his pocket for safekeeping, hand curled over them. Rose takes his other hand, and now she is just Rose, starting to get a bit sleepy. He’ll undress her in a few minutes, he knows, simply because he wants to, because she’s liable to want to tumble into bed still in that dress.

She takes his free hand and leans her head against his shoulder, stroking his arm with her knuckles; she melts into him, body and mind, quietly happy, and he beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/164879170918/formal-ceremony-over-everyone-seems-to-exhale).


	29. Twenty-Seventh

"Rose, _please_ ," he pants, whines, but she just grinds down on him, slowly, with a small shudder every time he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

"Yes, Doctor?" Breathlessly smug, she only has one finger looped through both the silver bracelets on his wrists, but it's the symbolism that counts, his hands bound as surely as with titanium rope. "You know if you want something, you've got to use words."

Rose shifts so the head of his cock grazes her entrance, a tease, and all he can do is groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/167361173731/rose-please-he-pants-whines-but-she-just).


	30. Second

He exhales, slowly, his fingers splayed over the small of her back flexing. Then he grabs a fistful of her dress and hauls her back against him — after a split second, the sensation clears.

In return, she pictures swatting him, once, twice, hard, a third time, her hand stinging and his skin turning pink. He sucks in a breath. “Don’t get cheeky, Doctor.”

It’s as much a promise as a warning, and his response is low, electrifying. “That’s hardly an incentive not to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163281551561/he-exhales-slowly-his-fingers-splayed-over-the).


	31. Third

He trails his hands down her sides, oh-so-slowly, fingers grazing her breasts, the small bump of her stomach. Pressing himself against her from behind, he grinds meaningfully. When he reaches her hips, she traps his hands, bringing one up to her breast and the other between her legs, the dress fabric the only thing separating his skin from hers.

"Was this what you wanted?"

Mentally, she swats his bum, hard, and he grunts and jerks forwards.

"I told you not to get cheeky. But first make me come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163383089926/he-trails-his-hands-down-her-sides-oh-so-slowly).


	32. Fifth

Slowly, Rose surveys him, taking in the pretty picture he makes: back, bum and thighs pink from the flat of her hand, erection prominent and dripping, and he meets her eyes with desperate desire in his gaze. His reddened skin is warm to the touch, no longer so sensitive to impact, but she rakes her nails down his back and he still groans.

That sound — she draws it from him again, digging her nails in a bit deeper this time — he’s sated her twice with his mouth and fingers already, but it never fails to make her want. Standing on her toes, pressing herself against him from behind, she palms him and strokes gently. “You’re close, aren’t you?” Low, letting her breath feather over his ear.

He nods, trembling.

“Do you want to fuck me, Doctor? But you can’t come before I do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163471831846/she-stops-stock-still-her-palm-smarting-and).


	33. Ninth

He nibbles on her neck, first, pressing himself against her from behind, his hands still trapped against her by her own. She tilts her head to offer him more skin, a purr inaudible to human ears escaping her. Curling his fingers, he draws slow circles around her nipple, presses his fingers against her entrance. She's slick, and clenches at the hint of intrusion, whimpers quietly. It's gratifying to know he isn't the only one she's been teasing half the night. He’ll show her teasing, show her coming, too. “Make me come,” indeed.

Tonguing his way down her neck, he nips lightly at the base, and closes his mouth over her shoulder. Gradually, he tightens the grip until she groans, her head lolling back against his shoulder, until desire floods her skin and coats his tongue. A moment longer, two, three, he holds her between his teeth. A moment, he sucks gently on her skin, laves his tongue over it, luxuriating in her sigh, then lets go. The dual crescents of indents his teeth have left send heady lust thrumming through him.

“Take off your dress, Rose, please.” It’s not exactly a request, his hand wandering down from her breast to bunch the material at her hip, but her posture stiffens, the agitated prelude to a call of yellow radiating from her as he grips the hem, and he stops. “Rose?”

Perhaps he’s gone too far; she likes a bit of cheek, but she won’t truly fight him, and he’s been particularly forward today. Fear fills him — fear she’ll unclip her silver bracelets from his wrists, fear she’ll end this, here and now, and he drops the fabric to set both hands on her hips, to brush a kiss over her shoulder, over his teeth marks. “I just — I want to bite you.” He speaks softly, penitent. “All over.”

A heartbeat two, three, and he nudges her over their bond.

“You’re getting toppy,” she murmurs, low and a bit injured. “If you don’t want me in charge, all you’ve got to do is say so.”

“No, I do.” There are so many things he decides, so much he controls, that he cherishes these moments, so few and far between, when he leaves it all up to her. “’M sorry.” He brushes another kiss over her shoulder, fights the urge to set his teeth back into those marks, to deepen them. “I can’t always keep from getting my own ideas.”

"I want you to touch me, but now I also feel like I'll be — letting you drive things." She nips at his collarbone, her annoyance plain in the sharp suddenness of it. “You’ve put me in a very frustrating position.”

“Please, Rose.” He finds himself fisting handfuls of her dress again, and forces his fingers to uncurl. “I’ll do anything. Please, let me.” _Let me worship you._

She holds his gaze, and he holds his breath, until, finally, she nods. 

Slowly, he reaches for her dress again, then stops. “May I?”

She shakes her head, a small smile curling her lips, and steps back, to pull her dress over her head herself. Running his tongue over his lower lip, anticipation streaking through him, he devours her skin with his gaze. The crescent of red marks on her shoulder continually draw his eye back to them, even as he mentally maps similar ones over the rest of her body. She steps forwards, to slip her hands under his jacket, to push the leather off his shoulders. He rests his hands on her waist, the small of her back —

“Not yet.” Her nails trace a slow path up his neck to just under his ear. Inhaling deeply, he lets his hands fall back to his sides. “Undress for me.” 

The urge to draw it out and the impulse to bare himself as quickly as possible war for several moments before coming to an uneasy truce, when she arches an eyebrow and he decides it would be best to simply start. Though all of time may be his, he’s desperate to make the most of every nanosecond with her.

He shucks his jacket first, then pulls his jumper over his head. He’s untying his shoes when the sensation of her stroking over his chest, a hint of her nails, startles him. Her hands motionless at her sides, she grins, wide and with tongue. “Go on.”

The phantom nails dig in, pleasant discomfort, as she steps away to better observe, and he returns her grin with a quick, playful snap of his teeth. A shudder runs through her, and then he feels her nip at the side of his neck. Surprised, he nearly Ioses his balance peeling off his sock. In return, he flings it in her general direction, careful to not actually hit her with it. The sensation of her teeth on his chest, scraping over his nipple, biting down, her affectionate revenge, washes over him, and he shoves his trousers and pants over his erection, no longer bothering with any sort of finesse.

Once free of his clothing, he starts towards her; in his mind, she clicks her tongue. _Stay._ “I want to look at you.”

_Rose…_

She steps forward to grasp his hand, pressing it. “All right?” she adds quietly.

Taking a breath, he nods, squeezes back. “Yeah.” 

Her smile is more tender this time, and as she slowly circles him, he closes his eyes and basks in the trail her fingers blaze across his skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163811068741/he-nibbles-on-her-neck-first-pressing-himself).


	34. Seventeenth

He’s warm, his hearts pounding in staccato, his blood running heated under his skin, but she’s warmer still. Her fingertips are bright sun-hot spots on his senses as he closes his eyes, bows his head. For her, for the moment, he tries to tame the desire flowing through his veins, the tension thrumming along his tendons. For a few moments, he’s successful. 

She traces his collarbone, trails her fingers down his arms to finger the silver bracelets, to flick the charms hanging from them. He feels it for the brief reproach it is, but then her fingers are wandering back up, linked behind his neck, her lips on his. His eyes flutter open when they part again, when she reaches down — he almost thinks she’ll grasp him, but no, she just scrapes her nails along the inside of his thighs, which is almost worse.

Finally, finally, she grasps his hands, backing onto the bed, drawing him with her. Sitting, she wraps her legs around his thighs, leans back on her elbows; he guides himself into her, a bit fumbling, trying to concentrate on his breathing, on not coming the moment he sinks inside her, shuddering.

Rose is slick, welcoming, clenching around him reflexively, rhythmically, as he slides in; she’s close, too. A gentle brush of her clit, then more firmly, angling his hips to put pressure on that spot inside — she cries out, grips his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, marks he’ll cherish later before they heal all-too-quickly, and she tightens around him. Then he’s gone, falling over that knife edge, spilling inside her, and with a jerk of her hips she comes with him.

  
Temporarily sated, panting, he presses a chaste kiss to the side of her neck and pulls back to look at her. Relaxed, a brightness in her eyes that seems to seep through her entire body, she grins at him. “Now bite me.”

The languid weight in his bones fades at her words, and he eagerly sets his teeth to the nearest patch of her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/164732846171/hes-warm-his-hearts-pounding-in-staccato-his).


	35. Twenty-Second

Just above her collarbone he bites first, teasing little nips that turn to larger, wet bites as he makes his way down her right breast, tightening his jaw just a little right before he lets go. Her small panting breaths grow deeper, shaky, and she runs her hands through his hair, her thumb tracing the curve of his ear with a featherlight touch. A half-growl, pleased, playful, builds in the back of his throat; she giggles. 

Over her hardening nipple he pauses, teasing it with his tongue, sucking before he closes his teeth over it, carefully increasing the pressure. She sucks in a breath, sharp, but he continues until her fingers curl into his hair and a soft, small noise curls from her throat. There he simply holds it, two seconds, three, brushing his tongue over the tip. “Doctor!” catches on her lips as she bites them, another soft mewl escaping her. She shifts beneath him, tensing, shuddering, the small movements tugging ever-so-slightly on her breast in his mouth, prompting another shiver. Finally, he loosens his jaw again, slowly, her gasp now almost more gratifying than the first. 

Only now does she share it with him, the pleasant ache, the sensitivity, his breath on her skin — he’s a bit proud to have made her forget herself for so long. Moving down, grazing his teeth over that sensitive area on the underside of her breast, leaving crescents in pink all over her stomach, tonguing the edge of her belly button, he breathes in her scent, sweat and sex, entirely intoxicating. 

There’s something deeply satisfying about seeing evidence of him on her, however temporary, seeing he has changed her, just a little, when she etched her name into his heart long ago. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here]().


	36. Sixth

Her dress lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, and hickey and teeth marks are sprinkled over her skin, evidence of their shared love of his mouth on her. He traces his tongue around her clit, dipping lower to taste her, and Rose whimpers and runs her fingers through his hair.

Opening her mind, she feeds him the sensation as well, gratified to see his hips buck forwards, to feel his moan against her as he redoubles his efforts. "Yes, like that, Doctor. Make me come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/163541829491/her-dress-lies-in-a-crumpled-heap-on-the-floor).


	37. Thirty-Second

He hasn’t rummaged around in the wardrobe in a little while, but the TARDIS puts _that_ tuxedo at the front of his closet this evening, and he can’t help but put it on, basking in the memories it carries.

Rose’s eyes widen when he joins her in the console room, her lashes fluttering, and he can see, practically feel, the memories wash over her, sparking new ideas…  
He thanks his ship, and Rose bites her lip and glances briefly towards the time rotor herself.

“Should I change?” She glances down at her usual jeans and blue leather jacket and trainers.

“No. I just felt like dressing up. That okay?” He watches her, revels in the flush rising in her cheeks, the slight hitch in her breathing.

“You can wear whatever you like.” She lifts one shoulder, belying the tension she’s radiating. “You don’t need my permission.”

“It doesn’t affect you, at all?” He can’t help the way his voice lowers, the grin spreading over his face because —

“You know damn well it does, you cheeky…” She shakes her head, that little spark to her voice that suddenly makes his trousers feel a lot less roomy. “I ought to smack you.”  
She makes no move to do so, though, a tease…

He hadn’t thought to do this this evening, not really, not before the TARDIS had put this possibility in front of him. Right now, though, there’s no way he can’t offer her his silver bracelets, and she plucks them eagerly from his outstretched hand.

Her kisses are quick, sharp, a little nip to the end — it’s not often that he gets an edge on her in this neverending seductive game, and now that edge makes her fierce as she leans to murmur in his ear. “I want to spank you so that you’ll feel it for the rest of the day. I want to get off to you eating me out, and I want to see myself on your lips. And then I want us to go outside, and you’ll be wanting me so badly…” Her fingers are drifting along the waist of his trousers. She doesn’t finish. She knows he remembers.

He has to swallow before he can speak, his voice rough with craving. “I’d like that.”

She stands, tossing her hair back over her shoulder, and pulls off the Tawarika wedding knuckles she’d donned for their visit planetside. “Bend over the jumpseat, then.”

He braces himself on his forearms, and her fingers brush over his erection as she undoes his belt buckle. “You can’t help yourself, can you?” She laughs, a little darkly, and he falls, his mind sinking to prostrate itself before hers, and she overwhelms him with love before leads him back to his body.

She’s groping his bare arse, and he revels in being so very hers, her mind swirling to engulf his, the small, soft smacks that bring a delicious heat to his skin. Then she brings her hand down, hard.

He very nearly comes over his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://chiaroscuroverse.tumblr.com/post/173146263696/he-hasnt-rummaged-around-in-the-wardrobe-in-a).


End file.
